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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27390574">Rings</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/indoorbutch/pseuds/indoorbutch'>indoorbutch</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Carol (2015), The Price of Salt - Patricia Highsmith</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Domestic Fluff, F/F, Light Angst, Smut, Strap-Ons, Teasing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 19:47:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,195</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27390574</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/indoorbutch/pseuds/indoorbutch</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Therese is perfectly confident in their lovemaking; knows that she gives Carol exactly what she needs, and that nothing is missing between them. But that doesn’t mean they can’t have more.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Carol Aird/Therese Belivet</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>194</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifting_belly/gifts">lifting_belly</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I've been thinking a lot lately of our ancestors who had to live their love in secret. I got engaged in 2014, right before gay marriage was federally legalized, never thinking our love would be recognized by the state. Though it IS recognized (for now), I continue to believe that there is a long road ahead to forge justice for our queer siblings, of all genders, races, and abilities, for whom marriage doesn't even constitute a blip on the screen of what they need to live their lives in safety and love. I can believe that, and yet still dream the beauty of Carol and Therese, finding their own version of what I now enjoy with my wife of five years. </p><p>Put another way: this has been a hard day, and there are more hard days coming. Have 11,000 words of flirting, teasing, smut, and, of course--feels.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In 1955, Harge announces that he’s getting married again. The night of the wedding, Therese and Carol meet Abby for dinner, joined by Abby’s girlfriend, Lou, and Lou’s friend, Joyce. It’s a lovely time, everyone in a good mood, people toasting Carol in increasingly raucous ways while Therese, still the quietest of the group even three years later, looks on in grinning amusement. She doesn’t participate in much of the mockery, but at one point Abby teases Carol for ending up with a younger model than Harge has (the new Mrs. Aird is 29), and Carol catches Therese’s eye, worried how she’ll take this. To her surprise, Therese winks at her, almost imperceptible, and it sends a little flutter of arousal careening through Carol’s body.</p><p>“Oh, stop it, all of you!” Carol finally exclaims, but she won’t pretend she isn’t enjoying herself. She’s happy, in fact, in a way she never anticipated she would be. She feels a relief she can’t explain, but also, she’s pleased for Harge. She never made him happy, but it seems this new woman, Barbara, does the job pretty well, and Rindy likes her, which is the most important part. Carol always detested Harge’s belief that a wife existed to make her husband better, to reflect his grandeur like a diamond in the sun, and she hopes he won’t repeat that mistake this time. She hopes it will all be better for him.</p><p>As if reading her mind, Abby asks, “Do you think he’ll be a better husband this time around?”</p><p>Carol chuckles, “Oh, I think he’s already got a leg up. This woman isn’t a deviant.”</p><p>They all laugh. Then Lou remarks, “Well, you’re well shot of him, which is the most important part.”</p><p>“Indeed,” Therese drawls.</p><p>“Do you ever miss it at all?”</p><p>This coming from Joyce, who Carol knows least of the group, and who is a little drunker than the rest of them. Carol frowns at the question. “Miss what? Being married to Harge? No, of course not.”</p><p>Joyce shrugs, a sly look on her face. “Well, but men are good for some things, after all.”</p><p>“Oh, come on, Joyce, can it, will you?” says Lou.</p><p>“What?” Joyce retorts, looking pleased with herself. “I mean, we’ve all been with at least one of them. They may not know what they’re doing half the time, but you can’t deny they bring something… unique to the bedroom,” and she waggles her eyebrows, meaning clear.</p><p>Lou and Abby make comical faces of disgust. Therese lights a cigarette, staring down at her plate with the faintest quirk to her lip. Joyce gloms onto Carol, saying, “Come on, be honest. You were married, what, ten years? You couldn’t have hated it every time.”</p><p>Now Carol really is irritated. She thinks of Therese, who only ever had sex with one man, two or three times. And she <em>had</em> hated it every time. And Carol had had other lovers, women in long-term marriages like hers, who she knows for a fact never enjoyed a second of it. Joyce’s comment is crass, but also careless, and she can feel her temper rising when suddenly—</p><p>“You know,” remarks Therese casually, eyes on the ash tray as she flicks her cigarette, “I think of the five of us, I’m the last one to actually have experienced the… <em>uniqueness</em> a man brings to the bedroom. And I have to say, there’s nothing they can do that the right woman can’t do better.” And she lifts her eyes to Carol, with all the directness and confidence that these three years have taught her. Carol nearly swoons.</p><p>“Hear hear!” declares Abby, with her own sidelong glance at Lou.</p><p>Joyce grins, tipping her drink at Therese in salute, saying, “I’ll give you that. Especially if she’s got the right equipment.”</p><p>Carol groans. Abby cackles. Lou looks a little embarrassed by her friend and Therese—Therese’s eyes fix on Joyce with sudden, brilliant focus. The average outsider would not be able to detect anything particular in this look, but Carol knows her lover’s every micro expression. What she’s seeing now is surprise, a moment of confusion, understanding, and then—curiosity. That last bit makes the hairs stand up on Carol’s skin, like a particularly tantalizing breeze has blown across her, all secrets, all promise. Carol can’t help herself. Under the table, she lets her moccasin slip off. She and Therese are sitting across from each other, and it’s very easy to run the tip of one stockinged foot from her ankle, up her calf, to the inside of her knee.</p><p>Therese three years ago would have jumped a mile; would have looked at her in sudden, wide-eyed shock; would not have been able to conceal the rush of her own desire, which Carol has always been so good at sparking in her. The same is true, now, but Therese doesn’t react beyond a slow blink. Not above the table, anyway. Underneath it, her hand moves, catching Carol’s foot and holding it between her knees just long enough to stroke her thumb in circles around her ankle, and then she lets her go. Thoroughly defeated, Carol clears her throat, sits up higher.</p><p>“You’re all very indecent!” she huffs, but without bite. “I’m going to have to take my sweetheart out of here before you corrupt her.”</p><p>Abby hoots, says, “Yes, that’s <em>your</em> job, isn’t it?”</p><p>Carol tosses back, “You’re one to talk.”</p><p>Joyce cackles. Therese grins in delight. Lou, clearly trying to play peacemaker, raises her glass again, “All right, all right, the lot of you! Let’s not forget why we’re here. To toast the nuptials of Mr. and Mrs. Hargess Aird.”</p><p>“May the sun shine brightly on them both,” says Carol, with humor and sincerity.</p><p>Lou tips her glass at Carol, nods at Therese, adds, “And may <em>your</em> sun shine even brighter.”</p><p>Carol looks at Therese, lets her eyes run over her like a caress, her smile turning heavy-lidded and sultry. “Believe me, it does.” </p><p>Therese, for the first time that night, pinks with embarrassment and pleasure, and takes a drink.</p><p>&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt; </p><p>Therese is straddling her on the bed, and Carol’s fingers are inside her, three, and Therese’s hands are braced against the headboard as she rocks, rocks into her. She can feel her release, so close, and she can feel Carol watching her, awed, and it’s so much, too much. Her breaths are coming shorter and sharper. Each stroke punches a high-pitched gasp from her chest, and Carol uses her free hand to reach between her legs and—</p><p>“D-don’t stop—oh—keep— Please, Carol, keep doing—that! Oh God—”</p><p>The fingers inside seem to reach even deeper, seem to <em>tug</em> her into orgasm, and then with a cry she’s locking up, back bowed over Carol’s body as sweet, consuming waves wash over her. She whimpers and trembles and clenches, her sex fluttering for what feels like an eternity of pleasure, before the sharpest crest flows past, and she collapses into Carol’s arms.</p><p>It’s quiet and warm in the aftermath. Carol pulls her fingers out gently, and uses both hands to stroke her back, soothing her. Her face is buried against Carol’s sternum, wanting to disappear into her. Her mouth is dry, and she licks her lips to wet them, instantly tasting Carol.</p><p>It was eleven before they left the restaurant, Carol’s under-the-table games growing increasingly hard to ignore. On the drive home, Carol took every opportunity to glance at her, to touch her thigh, her knee. Carol’s eyes followed her close as they entered their building, as they rode the elevator, as they walked the ten or fifteen feet to their front door. She left Therese the task of unlocking the door, standing behind her the whole time, not so close that a neighbor would notice, but close enough that Therese could smell the headiness of her perfume. Could hear her slow, deep breaths.</p><p>When the front door closed behind them, all bets were off. They didn’t even make it to the bedroom for the first round; Therese had Carol on the sofa first, and then their bed again, suckling and licking her into a frenzy twice before Carol grabbed her arms and hauled her up and—this is the body-melting result.  </p><p>“Warn me next time you plan to flirt in public,” Carol drawls after a while, sounding sleepy and amused. “I was in danger of vaulting the table.”</p><p>Therese chuckles, delighted. “Yes, well, I think the company brought it out in me.”</p><p>Carol grumbles, “Joyce is so… indelicate.”</p><p>Therese grins into her chest. This is such a perfectly <em>Carol </em>way to put it.</p><p>“I can’t say I wasn’t interested in your response,” Therese admits.</p><p>Carol nudges the top of her head, coaxes her to look up so that their eyes meet, and Carol is frowning her question. “About what?”</p><p>Therese smiles at her; runs her fingers down her cheek. “About whether you miss it.”</p><p>“What? Sex with men?” Carol scoffs.</p><p>“No, not that, exactly. But their—how did Joyce put it? Their <em>unique</em> contribution.”</p><p>Carol looks slightly scandalized. “Sweetheart, where is this coming from?”</p><p>Therese shrugs. She can see that Carol is growing agitated, but there’s no need. Therese is perfectly confident in their lovemaking; knows that she gives Carol exactly what she needs, and that nothing is missing between them. But that doesn’t mean they can’t have more. She kisses Carol sweetly.</p><p>“I only mean that… if you liked that part of it, there are ways.”</p><p>Carol’s eyes widen, and Therese grins, experiencing that rare flood of satisfaction that comes with utterly surprising her lover. She kisses her again, a little more deeply, flicking her tongue against the bow of her bottom lip.</p><p>“I’m young, Carol, not ignorant. I know those sorts of things exist. Gen has mentioned them before.”</p><p>Carol pouts, “Why was <em>Gen</em> talking to you about it?”</p><p>It’s been years since Genevieve Cantrell awoke even a glimmer of jealousy in Carol, and even now Therese can see that she’s not jealous, but just a little wrong-footed.</p><p>“She wasn’t saying it to <em>me</em>,” Therese reassures her. “It was a group of us. She had a new lover who used one with her. She had… very nice things to say about it.”</p><p>Another kiss, even deeper. Their tongues slide together, slow, and promising, and Carol’s body under hers starts to tighten for a different reason, her hands moving and massaging and gripping Therese’s back, until all at once she rolls, flipping their position. Therese murmurs her approval. She loves the weight of Carol on top of her, loves to feel her breasts pressed against her like this, loves and craves the <em>hunger</em> in Carol’s body when she takes control. Therese wraps her thighs over her hips, locks her ankles and holds her close.</p><p>Carol gasps into her mouth, “Is that something <em>you</em> want?”</p><p>She nips at her jaw, sucks on the spot behind her ear that makes Therese’s back bow. Therese whimpers, hips pressing, hands reaching to clutch at Carol’s hair. She can still feel the echo of her last release, a heavy warmth, but now she wants <em>more faster harder yes—</em></p><p>“I’m certainly intrigued,” she admits, breathlessly. Carol has moved down to her breasts, taking one into her mouth, licking in tight circles. “But not if you don’t—” she cuts off with a gasp, Carol’s teeth nibbling at the hard peak.</p><p>“Oh, Dearest,” Carol purrs against her. “Your intrigue is… <em>very</em> intriguing.”</p><p>Therese laughs, gasps again, full of joy and pleasure and anticipation. Carol is crawling down her body, settling between her legs, pushing back her thighs so that Therese is wide open for her.</p><p>“I’ll bet Abby could help us find something,” Carol remarks, licking her once.</p><p>Therese shudders, whimpers, “No—I—I’ll take care of it.”</p><p>A laugh from Carol; a messy, devouring kiss between her legs. “Will you now?”</p><p>“Yes, I can—I—God, Carol, <em>please</em>—”</p><p>“Later,” Carol promises, and then she is wrapping her arms around Therese’s thighs and bowing her head with purpose and everything else disappears.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Rindy has opinions, and Therese is on a mission.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Harge takes his new bride on a two week honeymoon, which means that Rindy stays with them for the duration. They’ve had joint custody for a year, one week on and one week off, but for some reason the extra week feels like the most precious commodity. Carol relishes the drives to Rindy’s school and picking her up again in the afternoons, listening to her chatter about all her schoolyard dramas. Every shared meal is filled with talk and laughter. When Therese sits at the kitchen table with Rindy after dinner and helps her with her homework, Rindy biting her bottom lip as she concentrates, and Therese quiet and patient and steady—Carol thinks she could not possibly be more in love with either of them.</p><p>Of course, things are always busier when Rindy is in the house. Longer commutes; the hassle of getting her ready in the morning and making sure she goes to bed at a reasonable hour. She and Therese find a couple of late night opportunities to reconnect, hands covering each other’s mouths to keep quiet as they move together. But there’s no more mention of Therese’s <em>intriguing</em> idea, and in fact Carol soon forgets about it. Over everything there hangs a contentment she spent so many years never dreaming she could have, and Carol is happy, and Therese seems happy, too, and it’s easy to get carried off in the day-to-day of that happiness.</p><p>On the Friday of the second week, the night before Harge is set to return from Europe and pick up Rindy, Therese comes home from work looking a little frazzled. She sets down her camera, as well as a fat portfolio of photographs, and says, “I’ve just got to run out again quickly. I won’t be half an hour.”</p><p>She pauses on her way out just to kiss the top of Rindy’s head. Rindy, drawing at the table, is unphased. Carol frowns in perplexity but Therese is already rushing off again, the door slamming after her.</p><p>“Therese must have very important business, huh, Mommy?” Rindy opines. ‘Very important business’ is a line that came up in a story they read last week, and Rindy has not stopped seeking opportunities to brandish it.</p><p>“I guess so, sweet pea,” Carol says.</p><p>“Do you think she’ll miss dinner?”</p><p>“No, she’ll be right back.”</p><p>“Because you know, that casserole you’re making is her favorite.”</p><p>Carol smiles lovingly, “Yes, it is. As I recall, it’s your favorite, too.”</p><p>“Yes. Did you make it for her or for me?”</p><p>“Why, for both of you, baby.”</p><p>“Good,” Rindy says, regarding her picture. “You know, Barbara was very beautiful in her wedding dress. But she’s not a very good cook.”</p><p>Carol faces the stove again, smirking. “No? Well, that’s all right. Not every woman is a good cook.”</p><p>“Yeah. Like Therese.”</p><p>Carol barely manages to smother her laughter. It’s true that Therese, for all her brilliance, has never been particularly adept in a kitchen.</p><p>“Maybe,” Carol says, “But we love Therese anyway, don’t we?”</p><p>“Yes. Just like Daddy loves Barbara.”</p><p>Carol doesn’t answer right away. This is one of those strange times when Rindy hints at an awareness of, and comfort with, things that they’ve never explicitly discussed with her. Rindy is seven-years-old. She’s known Therese for almost half her life. Carol worried at first that she would think Therese was hired help, like Florence, but this fear never materialized, Rindy understanding right away that the Madison Avenue apartment belonged to Mommy <em>and</em> Therese, and she must mind Therese, same as Mommy. It helps that Therese, after growing up in an orphanage surrounded by children of all ages, was never intimidated by Rindy. From the beginning she treated her seriously, like a small adult deserving of respect, and Rindy warmed to that at once. Now they’re thick as thieves.</p><p>“Yes, Darling,” Carol says at last, checking the oven. “Just like Daddy loves Barbara.”</p><p>Twenty minutes later, Therese blows back into the house, going straight to their bedroom with only a vague holler. The casserole is ready, and the plates are set, and Carol is just pouring Rindy a glass of milk when Therese hurries into the dining room. She’s changed her clothes and her cheeks are rosy from being out in the March air and she’s still got that slightly frazzled look, but she throws Carol a beaming smile.</p><p>“Sorry I’m late! Chicken casserole, is it? Our favorite, right, Rindy?”</p><p>“Yep!”</p><p>As they sit down for dinner, Carol manages to catch Therese’s eye, to send her an inquiring look. Therese gives a little shake of her head, but there’s a slyness to her smile that makes Carol’s heartrate pick up. She tries to think of how to provoke an explanation, but then Rindy begins to extol them with her current, favorite topic of conversation: Barbara’s wedding dress.</p><p>“And it had the loveliest flowers down the side, and bits of lace on the bottom, and do you know, it was white, but not <em>quite</em> white.”</p><p>“Cream, pumpkin,” Carol tells her.</p><p>“Yes, it was cream. I told her it was just the finest dress I ever saw. I asked her if I might have it when I was a grown up, but do you know what she said, Mommy? She said I would want to wear <em>your</em> wedding dress when I got married.”</p><p>“Yes, you might. You certainly can if you like.”                                </p><p>“But I’ve never even <em>seen</em> your wedding dress.”</p><p>“Well, I’ll show it to you. It’s packed away in a trunk somewhere, but we can get it out.”</p><p>“I don’t know, Mommy, I don’t think I can take your wedding dress. What will you wear when you marry Therese?”</p><p>Carol nearly drops her fork. Therese looks up sharply, her eyes wide as saucers. Rindy is focused on her plate and doesn’t notice, so the two women throw each other equally startled glances. Carol suddenly wonders how in the world she didn’t anticipate this conversation. All Rindy can talk about lately is the wedding, and if she understands now that one of her parents can fall in love and marry that person, why shouldn’t she assume that her other parent can do the same?</p><p>Carol considers how to answer for long moments, before settling on, “That’s a lovely thought, sweetheart, but, you know, they don’t really allow girls to marry other girls. Not like how Daddy married Barbara.”</p><p>“I know,” Rindy retorts, a little brazen. “That’s what Daddy said.”</p><p>
  <em>Oh, Christ.</em>
</p><p>“But I still think you had better keep it, just in case.”</p><p>Therese has started shoveling food into her mouth, eyes down, cheeks flaming.</p><p>Carol clears her throat. “All right, then. But we can still look at the dress sometime if you like.”</p><p>Rindy looks pleased, “Okay!”</p><p>For the rest of the evening, Carol feels unmoored, even a little shy, she and Therese skirting each other with sidelong glances. They have never discussed marriage because Carol always assumed they never needed to discuss marriage. Not just because it isn’t possible, but because what they have is so much richer and sweeter than any marriage Carol’s ever heard of or seen, even the good ones. But Rindy’s comment has her wondering—does <em>Therese</em> ever long for marriage? Does Therese feel the lack of it, of what they can’t have? Will it be just another thing she has to give up, to be with Carol?</p><p>After Rindy is in bed and Carol is brushing her teeth in the bathroom, Therese joins her. They stand at their separate sinks, each conducting her own nighttime routine, but in an uncharacteristic silence. That is, until:</p><p>“Do you remember when we met in Frankenburg’s?” asks Therese conversationally. Carol looks at her in the mirror’s reflection. There’s no need to confirm. Therese meets her gaze. “You asked me… what kind of doll did I want when I was four?”</p><p>Carol nods. “You said you didn’t really want one.”</p><p>“That’s right. I wanted a train set.”</p><p>The memory has Carol smiling, has her body unclenching for the first time in two hours. Rindy’s train set is still with them, tucked under her bed. Therese smiles in return, the gentlest, most loving smile. She says, “I never dreamed of dolls, Carol.” Carol nods, hoping she understands, and then Therese confirms it. “I never dreamed of weddings, either.”</p><p>The words fill her with relief, but also something deep and aching that she can’t quite name but that has tears pricking her eyes, anyway. Therese breaks their mirror stare to turn to her, rising up on tiptoe to kiss her once, on the lips. As she leaves the bathroom, she runs a hand down Carol’s back, and now everything is right with the world.</p><p>Until, that is, a few minutes later, when Carol walks into their bedroom, and the world spins sharply on its axis. </p><p>&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt; </p><p>Therese unwraps the brown paper package Gen gave her, letting the contents spill out onto the duvet. She’s already seen them before, because Gen showed her clippings from a dirty magazine, but still. To have them here, on the bed, is a different experience entirely. Therese takes a fortifying breath and arranges the three things in a line, blushing at the memory of what a smirking Gen said to her as she passed off the package: <em>‘Here’s your standing army, Ms. Belivet. Go win the war.’</em></p><p>First is a small bottle of lubricant, which Gen assured her was absolutely necessary. Next is an awkward network of cloth straps that Therese has to rearrange more than once before she gets a sense of how it’s supposed to work. Her body tingles at the implications, and then burns hotter when she finally turns to the last of the items.</p><p>It’s made from a surprisingly soft rubber material, hard but also slightly flexible, and about as long as the distance between the tips of Carol’s fingertips to her wrist. Therese rings her fingers around the thickest part of it, guessing that it’s about as wide as four of Carol’s fingers. Since Therese’s fingers are slimmer than Carol’s, since Therese rarely uses more than three on Carol, she wonders briefly if this will be too much for her lover—but then rolls her eyes at herself. What she’s got in her hands can’t be any bigger than most men, and Carol slept with Harge for years. It will all be fine. That is, if Therese can manage to do it right.</p><p>She sets the phallus down again, and climbs on the bed, perching beside the toys and watching the bathroom door.</p><p>Then all at once Carol is breezing into their bedroom, her evening toilette complete and leaving her fresh-faced and beautiful (she’s <em>so</em> beautiful) and—</p><p>She grinds to a halt, staring.</p><p>Therese can’t restrain her small, pleased smile. Carol’s eyes are locked onto the items on the bed, and her throat bobs with her swallow, her eyes widening. There is a unique privilege in watching arousal take hold of Carol, especially when there was no sign of it just moments before. The flip of a switch. The transformation from everyday ease to sudden, burning need, is the most potent aphrodisiac Therese has ever encountered.</p><p>It takes Carol a moment to find her voice, and then, still staring like a fish, she asks hoarsely, “Is this where you went?”</p><p>“Mmhmm,” Therese nods. “I got a call from Gen at work. Come and look.”</p><p>Carol approaches slowly, almost cautiously. When at last she is standing before the bed, looking down at the arrayed toys, Therese shifts a little closer so that she can cup a hand behind her knee, stroking tenderly.</p><p>“Have you used any of these before?” she asks, not a bit jealous, only wondering.</p><p>Carol blinks at her. Her cheeks are flaming. She nods, shyly. Says, “Once.”</p><p>Therese keeps stroking the back of her knee, regarding her, “With Abby?”</p><p>She shakes her head. “No. Someone else.”</p><p>Carol doesn’t elaborate and Therese doesn’t mind. Sometimes she can coax Carol to reveal details of her other love affairs, but sometimes she clams up about it, as if she’s ashamed. Not to have slept with other women, of course, but to have done it while she was married, while the other women were married. In some ways, Carol remains peculiarly conservative.</p><p>“Did you like it?” Therese asks, aware her voice has dropped an octave.</p><p>Carol clears her throat, shifting a little. Therese realizes in surprise that Carol is more nervous about this than she is. Perhaps the whole idea was a mistake? It’s not as if she <em>needs</em> this with Carol, and if Carol doesn’t want it—</p><p>Then Carol looks at her. Her eyes are almost black, pooled with a desire so intoxicating that Therese nearly tackles her to the bed.</p><p>“I did,” she admits. “I think I’ll like it even better with you.”</p><p>Therese uncrosses her legs, letting them dangle over the side of the bed, and Carol comes to stand between them. Therese runs her hands up the backs of Carol’s thighs, squeezing, and Carol cradles her face gently. They kiss, slow, Carol bending over her and seeming to surround her in her nighttime scent, her warmth, her softness. Their kiss deepens, still slow but with a rising heat, Carol’s tongue flicking at her lips, Therese’s mouth opening to accept the liquid slide of her. Then, just as Carol is reaching for the buttons of Therese’s pajamas, Therese’s takes her gently by the wrists, stopping her. Carol pulls back enough to blink, her eyes lust-drunk and confused. Therese smirks at her, so very pleased with how this is going.</p><p>“I think I’ll like it better with you, too,” she says. “But not tonight.”</p><p>Carol’s eyes widen, mouth opening and closing in disbelief.</p><p>“What?” she says.</p><p>Therese can’t help it. She grins up at her. She lets go of her wrists and cups the back of Carol’s thighs again, massaging.</p><p>“Not with Rindy here,” she says.</p><p>Carol scoffs, “Rindy is <em>asleep</em>. We had sex just three—”</p><p>“But this will be different,” interrupts Therese firmly. Off Carol’s exasperated look, she explains, “I don’t want to wake Rindy up because I made her mother scream.”</p><p>Carol’s pupils dilate. Therese feels the shiver that goes through her thighs and knows that by now she must be wet and aching. Therese, unable to help herself, tsks, “It’s not so bad. Harge will be by to pick up Rindy in the morning. I do have to spend the day helping Dannie—you remember—but tomorrow night it will be just the two of us. Or were you planning to go out with Abby? I suppose we could wait until next weekend—”</p><p>Carol huffs, breaking away from her, and Therese cackles with glee. She gathers up the toys, wrapping them in the brown paper again and rolling over to her side of the bed so she can secure them in the drawer of her end table. Then, she climbs under the covers. Carol has gone to get a pair of socks from the dresser, then she comes back to bed and puts them on, very deliberately not looking at Therese, her lips pursed with displeasure. Full of adoration, and feeling just a <em>little</em> guilty (but not much), Therese reaches over to stroke her arm.</p><p>“Don’t you think this part of it is fun, sometimes?” she asks. “Having to wait?”</p><p>Carol doesn’t answer, but climbs under the covers herself, arranging them across her waist, fluffing her pillows. And then, when everything is just as she likes it, she turns toward Therese, pinning her with her stare.</p><p>“The first time we met,” Carol informs her, “I wanted to push you up against the doll counter and kiss you until neither of us could breathe.”</p><p>Therese blinks, her lips parting.</p><p>Carol says, “The first time we had a date, I wanted to reach under the table and slide my hand up your thigh just to see how big those pretty green eyes of yours could get. The first time you came to my house, I wanted to lay you out under the Christmas tree and make love to you til you begged me to stop. And the first night we shared a room? When you leaned into me and smelled my perfume? If I hadn’t been so worried about frightening you, I would have dragged you into my lap and fucked you right there, for all of the McKinleys to see.”</p><p>Therese’s jaw slackens. Her breaths are growing slightly heavier. She can feel a tingling in all her extremities, that spreads like fingers with every moment Carol recalls.</p><p>Carol, sounding very self-possessed, continues, “By the time we reached Waterloo, I think I was ready to get on my knees and <em>beg</em> you to let me touch you.” She cocks her head to one side, regarding, thoughtful. Then she shrugs. “So yes. I suppose waiting can be awfully fun, can’t it?” She leans forward, briskly kissing Therese’s cheek, “Good night, Dearest.”</p><p>She turns to the bedside lamp, flicking it off, and then settles with her back to Therese. For long moments, Therese stays just where she is, breathing shallow, staring at her lover. Then, distinctly miffed, she collapses onto her back, glaring at the ceiling.</p><p><em>‘Well,’</em> she thinks finally. <em>‘Point to Carol, I guess.’ </em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Carol has feelings, and Therese brings her A game.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next morning, Therese leaves the house around 9 o’clock. Dannie’s wife, Anna, gave birth to their first child about four months ago, and Therese had promised to take some photographs, then watch the baby so that the new parents can get out of the house for a little while.</p><p>“I think Anna is going a little stir crazy,” Therese had remarked. Then, with a smirk, “And I think she’s tired of Dannie treating her like she’s made of china. I wouldn’t be surprised if she makes him check them into a hotel for the afternoon.”</p><p>Carol had laughed at this. She likes Dannie and Anna. Their son is a tiny, dark-haired, blue-eyed elf of a baby, so beautiful that Carol had not wanted to stop holding him the first time she got the chance. She would have liked to go along with Therese to help, but Harge is late. It’s almost noon before he arrives at the apartment, Barbara with him.</p><p>“Daddy!” Rindy squeals and runs into his arms.</p><p>She’s too big for him to pick up anymore, so he squats down enough to wrap her tight, grinning from ear to ear, “Hey, Sunshine!”</p><p>Barbara, standing back but observing the reunion with a fond look, glances up at Carol and smiles warmly. “How are you?”</p><p>Carol smiles back, and there’s no restraint in it. Barbara knows about her and Therese but has never indicated that it matters to her at all. Almost inconceivable. “How was Europe?”</p><p>“Fantastic!” Harge declares, standing up again but holding Rindy’s hand. Carol can’t help smiling at them, the daughter gazing up at her father with adoration, the father looking hale and happy. For years, Carol thought she would never see anything in his face but anger and resentment and the grief of unrequited love. Now he throws an adoring look Barbara’s way. “Wasn’t it fantastic, dear?”</p><p>“Yes,” Barbara smiles. “Paris is magnificent. Have you been, Carol?”</p><p>“Not for years,” Carol says, sidestepping that the last time was with Harge, for a business trip. He’d needed an impressive woman on his arm. </p><p>“Well, you must go again,” Barbara declares. “Take Therese with you.”</p><p>At that, Harge clears his throat. He still grows uncomfortable at any mention of Carol’s ‘living situation,’ which is why it surprises her so much when he suddenly asks, “Yes, where is Therese?”</p><p>The number of times he’s actually said her name could be counted on one hand.</p><p>“Oh, she’s photographing the baby of a friend of ours,” Carol says.</p><p>“She had very important business!” declares Rindy. “And he is quite the loveliest baby. He’s got the tiniest little fingers, and his eyes are blue, like mine!”</p><p>Barbara smiles brighter, warmer. Carol knows the look. She thinks it probably won’t be very long before Rindy has a little sibling.</p><p>Out of nowhere, a completely unwelcome resentment slides through Carol’s veins. She must marshal all her years of fine social training not to lose her smile, not to look at Harge and his new bride with any of the coldness she feels. The way they gaze at each other—it’s clear that they’re in love. They had a beautiful, expensive wedding, announced in <em>The Times</em>, attended by the New York elite. They went away on a grand honeymoon, and now they’re back they may soon be adding to their family. And Carol can’t give any of this to Therese, whom she knows she loves as deeply as any man has ever loved a woman.</p><p>She reminds herself what Therese said. Therese doesn’t want a wedding. And as for children—Carol is hardly interested in giving birth again, and Therese has confessed to her before that after growing up in an orphanage, she lost all interest in carrying a child. Still, Carol can’t help thinking how beautiful a child of Therese’s would be, and that if Therese knew the child would be raised with love and tenderness, and never abandoned, she might feel differently. But it’s not, in the end, that she or Therese wants a child or wants a honeymoon or wants a marriage—it’s that they have no choice in the matter. And this, more than it ever has before, fills Carol with bitterness.</p><p>“Well,” says Harge brightly. “We’d better get going! Let you have your Saturday back. I’ll bring her over next Sunday?”</p><p>“Yes, of course,” Carol says, and shakes away her grim thoughts to smile at her daughter. “Give us a squeeze.”</p><p>Rindy does, and the warmth of her, the smell of her hair and the familiarity of this, her beloved child, brings Carol some comfort. Then, a few minutes later, they are gone. Carol stands awhile in the hallway, not sure what to do with herself. For a minute she considers driving out to Dannie’s and Anna’s, spending the rest of the afternoon with Therese and the new baby. But then she remembers Therese’s parting words.</p><p><em>‘Think you’ll be able to go the whole day without me?’ </em>she’d asked. Her eyes were sparkling with mischief, her lips curved.</p><p>They had been finding little ways to tease each other all morning, each fighting for the upper hand. First was Therese, molding herself against Carol’s back in bed and coaxing her awake with kisses to her neck and shoulders—before abruptly going off to make breakfast. Next was Carol, seated at the table, asking Therese if she could bring her the milk—and then taking the opportunity when Therese approached to slide her hand up her leg, under her skirt. While Rindy was playing in the living room and Carol was clearing the table, Therese mentioned airily that she was going to have a shower and started undoing her shirt buttons as she quit the room. Carol nearly dropped a plate. But she had her revenge when Therese opened the shower curtain to find Carol waiting on the other side, naked, grinning. “I’ll just hop in now, if you don’t mind?” she’d said. </p><p>They ended up making out against the bathroom sink, Therese’s skin warm and damp as they grabbed at each other, both of them panting for breath by the time Therese gave her ass a swat of reprimand and flounced out of the room.</p><p>Thinking of it all, Carol starts grinning again, and the anxiety and bitterness she’d been feeling fades away. Harge can have Paris. He can have weddings and honeymoons and public approval. None of it is worth even one of Therese’s dimpled smiles. </p><p>And as for going to Dannie’s now, it is absolutely out of the question. Therese would never let her live it down. No, this day calls for something different.</p><p>So, Carol goes to the salon. It’s been a few weeks, and now she’s got time, she thinks the works are in order. She elects for a fresh manicure and pedicure, the polish a darker red than she’s worn in some time. Next comes a brow pluck and facial. She rarely indulges in such things, her private skincare routine quite sufficient, but even she can admit there’s something decadent about the whole process. Afterwards, her skin looks bright and lustrous, and the beautician declares, “Why, you don’t look a day over twenty five!”</p><p>Carol nearly rolls her eyes. At thirty five, even if she were inclined to think she was losing her looks, Therese’s nearly Pavlovian response to her appearance puts paid to her insecurities. Still, it’s nice to make an extra effort. Next, the hairdresser gives her a very fine cut, nothing so different from what she had before, but she knows Therese will notice. When Carol leaves the salon, makeup freshly applied, she feels like a walking advertisement, not just for beauty, but for cunning—Therese won’t know what hit her.</p><p>Next, lingerie.</p><p>By the time Carol gets home, carrying her own illicit packages, it’s 5 o’clock. Therese said not to expect her before six. Carol runs the tub, shaves with a cigarette between her lips, and dresses in her new purchases, including a cream frock with an open collar that Therese is sure to appreciate. Donning an apron, she sets about making them dinner.</p><p>When Therese walks in at 6:15, there are candles all over the dining room, and Billie Holiday playing on the record player, and the table set with their finest china and silverware. She stops short at the sight, brow furrowing in her surprise.</p><p>“What’s all this?” she says, and looks at Carol. Her eyes widen.  </p><p>Carol offers her brightest smile, the smile she knows makes Therese weak in the knees. “Oh, this?” she asks, pouring from a bottle of red into the glass at Therese’s place setting. “Well. There’s nothing wrong with a little romance, is there, Angel?”</p><p>Therese just gapes at her, eyes roaming her body, her new dress, her hair. But then a little furrow gathers at her brow, and Carol, confused, frowns as well.</p><p>“Therese?” she asks, putting the bottle down. “What is it?”</p><p>Therese snaps out of her trance. “What? Oh! Nothing—I—it’s just,” she glances down at herself. “I’ve been taking care of a baby all day and I—probably smell like it.”</p><p>Carol can’t help herself. She bursts out laughing. Therese raises a hand, gesturing at Carol’s person and saying urgently, “Just—hold this thought, will you? I’ll be right back.”</p><p>She practically flies from the room. Less than a minute later Carol hears the shower coming on, and laughs again. She pours her own glass of wine and takes a sip. She sits down to wait, one leg crossed over the other and fingers strumming the tabletop, her only outward sign of impatience. Minutes pass. Five. Ten. Fifteen. She’s just about to go in search of her, when suddenly Therese strolls back into the room.</p><p>Carol’s fingers stop strumming.</p><p>&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt; </p><p>It’s quite clear from Carol’s expression that she was expecting a dress.</p><p>Carol likes Therese in dresses, particularly the casual ones she tends to wear on weekends, that show off her slim shoulders and collarbones. Sometimes Therese will catch her staring, a slightly glazed look in her eyes. But tonight, Therese is not wearing a dress. She has donned high-waisted flannel slacks, and a long-sleeved white blouse, tucked in. Her damp hair is tied back, which accentuates her sharp jawline. These details are sure to please Carol, but they’re not so much out of the ordinary from things Carol has seen her wear before.</p><p>The necktie and suspenders, on the other hand…</p><p>Therese takes her seat at the table, reaches for her glass, and drinks, very satisfied to find that Carol is gaping at her like a fish.</p><p>“This looks delicious,” Therese pronounces, chipper. Their gazes meet across the table, and Therese doesn’t even try to conceal her smug smirk.</p><p>“Where did those come from?” Carol asks. She looks slightly annoyed, no doubt because her voice sounds like sandpaper.</p><p>“What, these?” Therese looks down at herself, then back up at Carol. She pops one of the suspenders; runs her fingers slowly down the tie. “Dannie lent them to me. What do you think of them?”</p><p>Carol narrows her eyes. “I think you’re a menace.”</p><p>
  <em>‘Point, Belivet.’ </em>
</p><p>Therese answers by running her eyes up Carol body, from her red heels to the dress that fits her like a glove, to her hair, freshly styled but loose and wavy. She looks a little wild, like she’s just been inside a tropical storm. Or like she <em>is</em> a tropical storm—ready to devour everything in its path. Therese knows she will have to be very strategic if she’s to keep control of this evening. Which she firmly intends to do.</p><p>“And where did that new dress come from, hmm?” Therese retorts.</p><p>Carol ignores her, says, “I’m going to tie you to the bed with that necktie.”</p><p>Therese laughs, but she’s not immune to the threat, and feels a warmth in her cheeks. Not to be thwarted, she takes a gulp of wine and sets the glass down, reaching for her cutlery, “Perhaps,” she smiles. “But let’s eat first, shall we?”</p><p>They’re both hungry. Or, perhaps, only determined to be properly fueled. The food is wonderful (Carol is an amazing cook) and despite their little game of one-upmanship, they soon find themselves chatting about their days as they would any other evening. Therese wants to know how it went with Harge. Carol asks after the baby. Therese regales her with a story about the recalcitrant nipple of a milk bottle, and Carol is in stitches. Eventually they push their plates away and Carol tops off their glasses, and when Therese leans forward and puts her hand on the table, Carol reaches for her fingers, tangling them together and stroking a thumb against her wrist in the slow, hypnotic way she does when it’s just them. It makes Therese feel calm and safe and loved, and by the time the record switches off in the other room, they are gazing at each other in smiling adoration.</p><p>Therese asks lowly, “Do you still want to?”</p><p>Carol’s throat moves with her swallow. She can say no, of course, and Therese will make no fuss about it. She only wants Carol to feel good, and if this won’t do that, then Therese doesn’t want it either.</p><p>But then Carol’s eyes flit down Therese’s body, lingering at the necktie and the suspenders.</p><p>“I see you’ve dressed the part.”</p><p>Therese blushes, smirks. “I think it makes me feel… more powerful,” she admits.</p><p>Carol grins, eyes sparkling. “My little big shot,” she purrs. “You look delicious.”</p><p>Now Therese’s body, which was already warm and loose from the wine, begins to tingle with anticipation. She turns Carol’s hands over in hers and runs the tips of her fingers up and down the sensitive skin of her forearm, from the blueish veins in her wrist, to the delicate crook of her elbow.</p><p>“I’m wearing it now,” she murmurs.  </p><p>Carol’s eyes widen; her lips part; then her face shifts from surprise to such naked desire that Therese burns all over. This is definitely worth the slight discomfort of the last forty minutes, the trouble of putting it on in the first place, the awkwardness of feeling it pressed up toward her stomach, the straps cutting into her thighs.</p><p>Suddenly, fluidly, Carol uncrosses her legs. She stands up, circling round to Therese’s chair. She grabs the seat of the chair on either side of Therese’s hips, moving it and Therese at the same time. The chair legs squeak across the hardwood flooring, but then Carol is inching up the hem of her dress and slipping forward, and the minute she straddles Therese in the chair, they both gasp. They both feel it, the unfamiliar and entirely bewitching hardness, pressed between their bodies. Carol’s eyes are almost black. Therese puts her hands on Carol’s hips, gazing up at her, and Carol’s thighs flex. She grabs the back of the chair, lifts up, and rocks down, moaning sweetly. Therese presses her face between her breasts, mouthing at them through her dress, the neckline scandalously low.</p><p>“Can we go to bed?” she asks breathlessly, looking up at her.</p><p>Carol, still gently rocking, cocks an eyebrow. “You don’t want me right here?”</p><p>Therese moans. Carol nips at her chin, and then stands up, holding out a hand. “Maybe later. Come with me.”</p><p>Therese lets herself be led into the bedroom, but once they cross the threshold, she tugs Carol back, into her arms. Raising up, she takes her mouth in a slow, deep kiss, tongue flicking, throat vibrating with her moan, hands in her hair. All the things she knows that Carol likes. She moves Carol over to their vanity, coaxing her to lean back. Carol braces her hands on the top, and with room to work, Therese starts pulling at zippers and loosening buttons and ties. When they both finally drag the dress off, over her head, Therese discovers Carol’s next plan of attack: a bright red negligee the same color as her nails, with lace along the bodice and the trim. A garter belt with tiny bows on the snaps. Silk stockings. Carol smirks at her. She looks so beautiful it’s almost maddening, it makes Therese <em>angry</em>. How is she supposed to maintain her hold on this if Carol keeps being so damned—</p><p>Therese drops to her knees. Carol breathes in, sharp and startled. Therese slides her hands up and down her calves, her thighs. She finds the garter snaps and undoes one after another, and each time she does, she kisses the spot, feeling gooseflesh rising on Carol’s inner thighs. She rolls her stockings down her legs, discarding them. She smooths her hands back up to the waistband of Carol’s panties and drags them down. Carol steps out of them obediently. Therese looks up at her, sees her dark and hungry stare, and with a quirked eyebrow, she stuffs the panties in the pocket of her trousers, standing up again.</p><p>“I’ll just hold onto those for you,” she says primly. “Now, go lie down.”</p><p>Carol’s eyes are hooded, almost drunken. She obeys the order with surprisingly little fuss, but when she lies down, she does it on her side, propping up her head with one hand and sliding the other hand down her hip to rest on her thigh. Like that, watching Therese, she looks sinfully provocative, more so thanks to the little smile on her lips. For a moment, Therese is frozen, thinks, <em>‘Where is my camera?’</em> —completely consumed by the sight of her, garter snaps dangling, slip falling off one shoulder to reveal an equally red bra strap, all of it making her skin look pale and silky as a bowl of cream, and Therese wants to lick her up.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Seriously, these girls have no chill.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>From the beginning, Carol has always liked the way that Therese looks at her. In the early days there was so much innocence in it. The wide-eyed stare in a toy shop. The shy glances in the car. The stunned and longing gaze in the reflection of a motel mirror in Waterloo. And then, of course, three years ago, when Carol looked up from an interminable dinner of feigned good humor and secret despair, and saw Therese across the restaurant, staring, with such open tenderness in her eyes, her smile like a second chance. Just remembering that unbearably perfect moment of hope and reconciliation and love is enough to make the tears start in Carol’s eyes.</p><p>Therese still looks at her that way. But there are new expressions in her repertoire, born of years together, born of building confidence, of familiarity, and laughter and teasing and play. The old Therese never appraised her with such frank and unapologetic lust—but only because she was afraid to show it. New Therese shows it readily.</p><p>And then she reaches for her tie.</p><p>Carol swallows. Watches. The tie comes loose with a whisper of fabric. Therese drops it on the floor. She unwinds the strap of each suspender from her shoulders, letting them hang loose at her hips. She untucks her white blouse, and Carol gets the briefest glimpse of her pale stomach before she starts on the buttons. As each comes undone, opening a wider and wider strip down her torso, Carol realizes with shivering excitement that Therese isn’t wearing a bra. When the shirt, too, hits the floor, she stands a moment in just her trousers, the tips of her breasts hard, the curve of her lips promising. Carol watches, rapt, as she reaches into her pocket and pulls out—not the panties, but the bottle of lube. She tosses it onto the bed with a wink, then unzips the trousers without fanfare, and pushes them off her hips.</p><p>What little moisture was left in Carol’s mouth evaporates. Her heart stutters. She had no idea it was possible for a woman to wear something like this and still look so fucking… <em>feminine</em>. The straps of the harness frame her thighs and hips like a particularly spartan garter belt, putting every slim line of her on display. The phallus juts from a triangle of fabric covering her pubic hair, and though Carol has always thought the idea of women wearing these things rather ridiculous, Therese does not look ridiculous. With her proud breasts and straight shoulders and flaming eyes, she looks like a creature from mythology. She looks sexy as hell.</p><p>Carol makes a low sound, wanting, and Therese grins, crawling onto the bed, crawling over her body.</p><p>It’s disorienting, at first. With this new appendage between them, Therese can’t lower herself onto her body as she normally would. Instead, she kneels over her, hands braced beside her shoulders, nuzzling at her throat and collarbones as the hardness pokes Carol’s stomach. The only other time Carol experienced this, the toy was cold, but Therese has been wearing it tucked against her body for an hour, and so it feels warm, if a little strange. If Therese feels the strangeness of it, she gives no sign, mouth busy with other matters, kissing across Carol’s chest. Nibbling the ball of her shoulder. She rises up again, lips at her ear.</p><p>“I keep trying to think what men do.”</p><p>Carol chuckles throatily, “Darling, I promise—this won’t be anything like that.”</p><p>“No?”</p><p>“I predict you’ll have more stamina, for one.”</p><p>Therese snorts with amusement, and Carol giggles, and then she’s gasping at the feel of her lover’s tongue, circling her nipple. Therese keeps moving down, down, until she is kneeling between Carol’s legs and hunching over, and, without further ado, she starts lapping gently at her sex.</p><p>Carol gasps, arches. Says, “Another difference.” Therese hums a question, doesn’t stop licking, and Carol whimpers, “So few men—<em>oh!</em> —do this.” A chuckle between her legs, and then Therese really sets to work, hands gripping her thighs and mouth moving with practiced, confident aggression. She has Carol panting in minutes, has her hips circling and rocking and her fingers clawing at the sheets. She doesn’t go inside her, even when Carol whines and lifts her pelvis in that signal that Therese can certainly interpret. No, she just licks and kisses and sucks in an ever sharpening frenzy, until with a choked gasp Carol seizes up, trembling all over—and then melts into the bed.</p><p>Eyes closed, panting for breath, she’s aware of Therese’s movements. Hears the click of a bottle cap opening, and then a rude sound that makes her open her eyes. Therese is blushing, but she’s successfully squirted some of the lubricant into her hand, and there’s no way Carol is going to miss this. How she slides her hand up and down the toy, slow and even, covering it completely.</p><p>“Fuck,” Carol gasps.</p><p>“Indeed,” Therese drawls. And then, looking her in the eyes, murmurs, “Just lie back, baby.”</p><p>Carol nearly comes again on the spot, eyes widening, sex clenching. Pet names have always been her territory, and even she has never used this one. It’s like the suspenders and necktie—an affectation, but brilliantly executed. Carol feels faint. By the time Therese gently coaxes her to widen her trembling thighs, she has forgotten entirely that she had planned to direct this whole encounter. She feels limp and needy, and watches with bated breath as Therese adjusts her body and then moves the toy between her legs.</p><p>In the end, it takes both of them. The angle is strange, and unfamiliar. Therese’s furrowed brow shows she is worried about hurting her. After one false start Carol grabs the nearest pillow and together, they wedge it under her hips, creating some necessary elevation. When Therese guides the toy into place again, the angle is perfect, and after a quick nod from Carol, she pushes her hips carefully forward.</p><p>Just a couple of inches, and Carol lets out a sharp gasp. Therese freezes at once, looking up into her eyes.</p><p>“Are you all right? Should I stop?”</p><p>“Yes, I—no, it—no don’t stop, it just—oh God. I—I forgot how different it feels.”</p><p>Therese’s momentary look of panic dissolves into a slow, lascivious smile.</p><p>“Does it?”</p><p>“Yes, it—keep going, Sweetheart. Just—just—slow.”</p><p>Therese obeys. From the beginning she has always taken direction with such studious resolve, and as she carefully shifts her hips forward, watching Carol’s face the entire time, the last couple of inches slide home like a key fitting into a lock. Carol’s eyes roll back, her shoulders pressing hard into the mattress. It’s so <em>hard</em> inside her, so deep, the thickness of it rubbing against—everything.</p><p>“Oh,” she whimpers.</p><p>Therese is breathing hard, holding her hips still, “Is it all right?”</p><p>“Yes, it—it’s good. Come here. Please, come here.”</p><p>Cautiously, Therese lowers her upper body, planting her elbows on either side of Carol’s head and taking her mouth in a slow, deep kiss. For several moments, there is no movement beyond this, just their lips and mouths and tongues, devouring. When they pull back enough to look at each other, Carol is almost surprised by the glazed look in Therese’s eyes, by the realization that she is just as consumed by this connection. Then, elbows still braced, she nudges her hips forward. It’s just a small movement, a test, but it feels like an earthquake inside.</p><p>“Oh, God—” Carol moans.</p><p>Therese does it again. And then, with a little more force, again. Soon, her hips have found a slow and steady rhythm, and whether it’s instinct or the product of careful thought, Carol doesn’t know or care. Because it feels like heaven. So different from their usual lovemaking, and yet—just the same. Bodies close and sliding together. Breaths uneven and hungry. The intimacy of Therese inside her, holding her down, fucking her. Carol’s head tosses. She puts her hands on Therese’s hips, grabs the straps of the harness, helping her to thrust.</p><p>Therese checks in, panting, “How is it?”</p><p>Carol nods frantically. “G-good. Faster. Go faster!”</p><p>Therese does, hands planted, mouth dropping to Carol’s breasts. Her hips start driving as she sucks a nipple into her mouth, moaning in counterpoint to Carol’s shuddering whimper. She switches from one breast to the other, speeds her rhythm til every breath out of Carol’s mouth is a choked cry. Then, suddenly Therese is grabbing one of her thighs, hitching it higher and pressing it up until it’s almost flush with Carol’s chest. The change in angle makes everything tighter and makes the base of the toy press up against Carol’s clit, grinding with perfect pressure.</p><p>“Oh!” she cries, “Oh—oh—yes! Yes, just like that. Please, Angel, just—just like that!”</p><p>Therese bites her collarbone. Reaches up to moan into her ear. Her body is so warm, her skin damp with sweat as she works harder, as she gasps and grinds and seems for all the world like she is just as overwhelmed as Carol. The toy keeps hitting the same perfect, body-melting spot, and Carol starts to shudder.  </p><p>“That’s it,” Therese purrs. “That’s it. You feel so good. God, you feel so good. Are you close?”</p><p>“Y-yes. God, yes—”</p><p>“I want you to come for me.”</p><p>“Fuck, Therese—”  </p><p>“Yes,” she growls, and with a completely electrifying edge of command: “Come for me, baby. Come now.”</p><p>A lightning bolt surges from the base of Carol’s skull to the depths of her cunt. She cries out, the crest lifting her so high so fast she thinks she might pass out, and then it drops out from under her. Her clit throbs; her sex clenches. She digs her nails into Therese’s back and shakes and shakes and shakes, keening with pleasure. After a few seconds Therese locks her hips in place, and that brilliant foresight means that instead of overstimulation, Carol is bound to the moment of release, Therese holding her down as she thrashes and jerks and moans, chasing every tremor of sensation until with a mighty heave she collapses, sobbing her lover’s name.</p><p>Therese starts kissing her, all over her upper body, gentle, lovesick kisses to her shoulders and chest and throat and jaw and eyelids—until Carol reaches blindly for her mouth. And this kiss is deep, their tongues dueling, their throats vibrating with sounds of relief and pleasure and love, so much love, God, she’s so, so in love with her—</p><p>“Carol?” Therese says. There’s something in her voice, a note of concern that Carol isn’t expecting, and then she’s pulling back and looking at her with furrowed brow. “Carol, are you all right? Did I hurt you?”</p><p>It’s only now that she’s opened her eyes again, and everything is a network of prismatic stars, that Carol realizes she’s crying. Tears stream from her eyes and there’s an ache in her heart that feels as deep as her marrow, and Therese’s sweet, wide-eyed stare is so beautiful that a sob catches in her throat.</p><p>“I love you,” she gasps.</p><p>Therese is still frowning, eyes darting all over her face. “I love you too, baby. What is it? Tell me?”</p><p>“I—I—”</p><p>How can she tell her? She can’t even explain it herself. It makes no sense, and yet it’s surging through her, the words unstoppable as her tears—</p><p>“I want to marry you.”</p><p>Instantly, all the worry in Therese’s expression melts away, replaced with an incredible tenderness, of understanding, of affinity. “Oh, Carol,” she murmurs.</p><p>“And I know it’s not what you need, or even what you want. That you don’t care about a wedding and Christ, neither do I, weddings are awful. And it’s not about Harge! I swear, it’s not about Harge, or—or—<em>jealousy</em> or competition or—but Darling, I wish—I just wish—”</p><p>But before Carol’s rambling can go any further, Therese’s lips stop her own, her kiss as delicate and sweet as a fairy tale. Carol whimpers, tears still leaking from her eyes. She reaches for Therese’s face, holding her close as they kiss, not with the lustful passion of the past hour, but with something equally as potent, that means <em>promise</em> and <em>forever</em> and <em>yes</em>. When Therese pulls back again, she’s looking at her with one of her adoring, dimpled smiles. And then she says—</p><p>“Buy me a ring.”</p><p>Carol blinks. Her tears have finally ceased but her eyes are still watery and for a moment she thinks she’s misunderstood. But Therese goes on smiling.</p><p>“Buy me a ring,” she repeats. “Something simple. And I’ll buy you one. We’ll wear them on a different finger. No one will know what they mean. There won’t be a wedding. There won’t be a marriage certificate or an announcement in the Lifestyle section of <em>The Times</em>. And it won’t change anything between us, not really, because we have everything we need. But we’ll also have rings. And then when you look at it, you’ll know.”</p><p>Carol’s eyes are welling with tears again, but she asks, “Know what?”</p><p>Therese tilts her head. She smiles again. Those dimples, again.</p><p>“That I’m yours,” she says, earnestly. “And you’re mine. Forever, Carol. Always.”</p><p>&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt; </p><p>There have been plenty of times over the years when Carol has needed comfort, needed reassurance, needed to be held and soothed and told that everything will be all right. Those moments always break Therese’s heart, reminding her again of how long Carol spent hiding her needs, putting on a brave face, pretending that she was a mountain of unflappable confidence and control.</p><p>But Therese doesn’t feel heartbroken now. As Carol raises up to kiss her, Therese feels only joy, feels only hope. Their lips have barely pressed together before what was chaste turns urgent, Carol moaning softly in her throat. Remarkably, exquisitely, Therese is still inside her, their bodies still wrapped together, the tightness of Carol’s sex grasping the hardness of the toy, and suddenly, Therese giggles.</p><p>Carol pulls back, quirking an eyebrow. “What’s so funny, my little lothario?”</p><p>Therese giggles again. “You did say I would have better stamina than a man.”</p><p>At that, Carol’s head tosses back and suddenly they are both laughing, giddy with joy, giggling like schoolgirls as they kiss. Then Carol puts her hands on her hips, and Therese finds herself being rolled, onto her back, and Carol is settling over her again, the toy pressing up inside her, and her head tips as she gasps in pure, uninhibited pleasure. She’s still wearing her red negligee and brassiere and garter belt, but as Therese watches she strips herself of all, until she is sat there naked and glorious. Therese gazes up at her, stunned by the beauty of her, her back arched, her breasts heavy, her neck long and exquisite as her golden hair falls over her shoulders. Therese puts her hands on her, runs them up her hips and belly and sides, cupping her breasts.</p><p>“Carol,” she sighs. “God… I wish you could see yourself right now.”</p><p>Carol answers by shifting her hips, by starting up a slow, rocking motion. Each thrust presses the base of the toy down, onto Therese’s mons, a sweet steady pressure that makes her own eyes roll back. When she opens them again, Carol is watching her closely, lips parted.</p><p>“Does it feel good?”</p><p>Therese whimpers, nodding. The tip of Carol’s tongue pokes out between her teeth. She asks, “Would you ever let me do this to you?”</p><p>A throb of want goes through Therese’s sex. She’s so wet, she can feel herself dripping onto the bed. She nods again, gasps, “I—I think so.”</p><p>“Good,” Carol purrs. “Because I’m going to.”</p><p>Therese whimpers again, fingers digging into Carol’s sides. Carol starts rocking faster, her chest heaving with every inhale, her eyes glassy. The pressure against Therese’s clit is maddening, aching, so good but not enough. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is Carol’s body above hers, the sway of her breasts as she moves, the glisten of sweat along her collarbones, the look of fierce determination in her gray eyes as she chases pleasure, faster and faster. She plants her hands on Therese’s chest, using her for leverage. Therese scratches her fingernails down her arms, rings a shudder from her body.</p><p>Carol stares down into her face, asks breathlessly, “What does it feel like?”</p><p>Therese gives a little helpless shake of her head.</p><p>“Tell me,” Carol begs.</p><p>“I—I can’t explain it. It’s—it’s so different. I can’t feel you, not like with my fingers, but—but I can <em>feel</em> you. I can feel how tight you are around me. I can feel you—tugging on it as you move. It’s—it’s incredible.”</p><p>Carol gasps raggedly, says, “Touch me here,” and grabs her hand, putting it between her legs. Therese finds the spot at once, starts stroking and circling in the focused way that Carol likes. And Carol does like it. She gasps again, rocking faster, before all at once her thighs and her belly lock up, her face contorts with an expression like agony, and then she convulses. Therese can only watch her, can only lie there and gasp and feel the throbbing in her own cunt as Carol rides the waves of her release, rides them until they are just rippling tides, and then falls forward into her arms.</p><p>Carol has come like a river; her wetness is all over Therese’s abdomen and thighs, and their torsos stick together. After a moment she makes a grimacing sound of discomfort, and then lifts carefully off the toy, her face twisting and then relaxing with a groan. She looks ready to pass out from exhaustion, and yet she reaches for the straps of the harness. They have to work together, both chuckling more than once at the complexity of the contraption, but once they have it loose Carol pulls it down her thighs and tosses it across the bed, immediately flowing forward into her arms again. She presses her face into her neck and Therese strokes her sweat-damp hair, murmuring to her all the adoration that she feels.</p><p>They lay like that for what could be minutes, or hours, slipping in and out of consciousness, before to Therese’s surprise, she feels Carol’s hand, sliding up her thigh. When Carol finds the molten center of her sex, they both groan.</p><p>“Oh, sweetheart,” Carol sighs, her voice groggy but full of intent. “You’re drenched.”</p><p>Therese whimpers, says, “Carol, let’s go to sleep. You don’t have to—”</p><p>“Darling,” Carol interrupts, raising her head to kiss her messily, drunkenly. “Just let me.”</p><p>Therese can hardly resist, worked up as she is from what feels like days of anticipation. They’re both so sleepy and weak that it feels like a dream, Carol’s fingers easily find the hard and swollen point of her clit, which she begins to stroke in smooth ovals. Therese sighs, twitching into her hand. They’re still kissing, slow, clumsy.</p><p>“God, you’re perfect,” Carol moans into her mouth.</p><p>Sensitive as she is, it doesn’t take long. Carol keeps stroking, keeps murmuring praise into her mouth, keeps sliding her tongue along Therese’s tongue, until all at once Therese alights with shivers. Her sex flutters helplessly, and for how intense it is, it’s still somehow sweet and easy as breathing. When it passes Carol cups her tenderly between her legs, as if to hold her to the earth. Therese needs it. She thinks, right now, she’s on the verge of floating away.</p><p>“You exquisite thing,” mumbles Carol, her words slurred, her body relaxing deeper and deeper into the bed. “You—wearing that—God, I’ll never get over it.”</p><p>Therese uses the last of her strength to roll onto her side, pulling Carol against her, pulling Carol’s head under her chin, and wrapping her in her arms. She feels Carol’s lips against her throat, feels Carol’s long body curling into hers. Just before they fall asleep, she answers:</p><p>“Wait til you see me in a ring.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>We're just going to suspend disbelief over how incredibly inefficient 1950s harnesses were. This harness works like magic and Therese is a goddamn stallion.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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